


Mr. and Mr. Sawamura

by theroyalsavage



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A bit of vague violence towards the end but nothing too graphic, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, Mutual Pining, Someone please help Sugawara Koushi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroyalsavage/pseuds/theroyalsavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your new assignment," Oikawa says in lieu of a greeting, passing Koushi a thick, manila folder. “I think you’ll like this one.”</p><p>Koushi sets his coffee aside and takes the envelope out of Oikawa’s hands. Inside is a sheaf of papers - addresses, phone numbers, credit card bills. He cards through it, looking without really seeing, until his eyes snag on the photograph of his mark.</p><p>His heart stutters to a stop inside his chest.</p><p>“Sawamura Daichi,” Oikawa says. "I want you to take him out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. and Mr. Sawamura

Sawamura Daichi walks Koushi to work, sometimes.

It’s a stupid thing to read into, and Koushi knows it. He’s just being friendly, after all; his accounting firm is just a block or two past the elementary school where Koushi works part-time, and they usually leave their shared apartment building around the same time in the morning. Walking together is just a way to pass the time.

It’s easy to pretend otherwise, though.

It’s easy to pretend that every time their hands brush, every time Daichi laughs, every time he says, “Have fun today,” with a gentle smile on his face, it _means_ something.

(Koushi can’t afford to let it mean something.)

They split off at the elementary school doors. Suga waves and Daichi says, “See you tonight,” and it feels dangerously domestic. Dangerously _natural_.

He’s about to go inside when his watch beeps insistently.

“Crap,” he mumbles, checking to make sure Daichi is gone before swinging around the corner of the building and pressing the small, red button on his watch’s LED screen.

“Designation: KA-02,” he tells the watch in a low voice. “Sugawara Koushi.”

An electronic, vaguely feminine voice says, “Processing,” and then, “Confirmed.” The watch’s face lights up green, and the next voice he hears is a familiar one.

“Suga-san,” Asahi says. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” Koushi responds, smiling despite the fact that the watch’s camera probably only lets Asahi see his eye, and maybe part of his nose. “What do you have for me?”

“Oikawa-san wants you to come in to the office this morning,” Asahi explains. “He’s got a new assignment for you.”

“Is it more interesting than last week’s?” Koushi asks. “Visiting dignitaries are pushovers.”

Asahi chuckles. “I’m not sure. How soon can you get here?”

Koushi considers. “Give me five minutes.”

“All right. Oikawa-san’s in a meeting with Kageyama and Hinata right now, but he’ll be able to see you as soon as he’s finished.”

“What did they do this time?”

“The same thing they always do. They get the job done, and manage to do several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage in the process.”

Koushi nods and sighs. “See you in a few, then.”

The watch’s glow flickers and then fades in response. Koushi adjusts his tie and looks back at the elementary school.

“Looks like I’m calling in sick, then,” he mumbles.

Koushi’s office is located three blocks down the street from the school, in a nondescript, brick building with a sign over the door that proclaims ‘Oikawa and Iwaizumi, Attorneys at Law.” Koushi presses his thumb against the scanner beside the door and waits until it reads his thumbprint and flashes green. The door slides open smoothly and he steps into a hallway lined with marble and stainless steel.

“I like your shoes,” Asahi’s voice says, issuing from a speaker Koushi can’t see.

“They’re new,” he says.

The elevator scans both his thumbprint and his retina before the doors open and he can step inside. The far side of the elevator is bulletproof glass, and he can see the floors of the building flash by - sublevel one, surveillance and security; sublevel two, weapons storage; sublevel three, training.

Koushi catches a flash of Iwaizumi teaching one of the new recruits the proper technique to suppress pain receptors during torture. He shudders. That had been his least favorite day in training.

The doors finally open at sublevel seven, headquarters. The office is the same as it always is. Metallic and sleek, improbable and gleaming. Koushi sort of thinks the place is timeless, exists on a different plane than the rest of the world.

Asahi waves at him from the front desk before returning his gaze to the massive array of screens set up in front of him.

“Kageyama and Hinata still in there?” Koushi asks him.

Asahi sighs, rubs a hand through his hair. “Oikawa-san was really mad this time. It was sort of scary.”

“Those two are more trouble than they’re worth,” Tsukishima mutters, from across the room.

“They work well together,” Koushi points out gently.

“Right. When they’re not trying to put a bullet in each other’s heads.”

Koushi laughs and accepts a mug of coffee from one of the interns, a cheerful kid with blond hair, a bright but nervous laugh, and a penchant for creating minor chemical explosions. He crosses to his desk, towards the back of the room, and settles in to wait, sipping his coffee with one hand and twirling a knife between his fingers in the other.

It isn’t long before he sees Kageyama and Hinata leaving Oikawa’s office, heads bent, whispering to each other in low voices. Hinata beams and waves when he sees Koushi; Kageyama nods respectfully before going back to murmuring in Hinata’s ear.

Oikawa follows not long after they’ve retreated, looking half-drained and half-exasperated. “Your new assignment,” he says in lieu of a greeting, passing Koushi a thick, manila folder. “I think you’ll like this one.”

Koushi sets his coffee aside and takes the envelope out of Oikawa’s hands. Inside is a sheaf of papers - addresses, phone numbers, credit card bills. He cards through it, looking without really seeing, until his eyes snag on the photograph of his mark.

His heart stutters to a stop inside his chest.

A very familiar face smiles up at him from the picture, which is worn around the edges and curling slightly - a man, dark-haired and handsome, with a broad, crooked smile. There’s a dimple in one of his cheeks, a tiny scar over his upper lip. He wears a baseball cap, a maroon t-shirt.

His smile looks like sunlight. Koushi’s always thought that.

“Sawamura Daichi,” Oikawa says. “Hitman, specializes in reconnaissance and cleanup missions. One of Kuroo’s best and brightest, which makes him, of course, competition.” He drums his fingers on the desk with a flair and smiles. “I want you to take him out.”

“That’s... my neighbor,” Koushi observes. “Oikawa. That’s my _neighbor_.”

One of Oikawa’s eyebrows lifts. “Right,” he says, slowly, like Suga’s playing dumb. “Why do you think we found you that apartment? We’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

“He’s...” Koushi shakes his head, searching for a thought to hang onto. “He can’t be one of Kuroo’s. He’s an _accountant_.”

Oikawa looks decidedly unimpressed. “Look who’s talking, sensei.”

“No, but... I don’t know. He’s _nice_. Good. The other day I watched him rescue a spider from inside his apartment and release it.”

“Suga-chan,” Oikawa says. “Last week you cried while watching reruns of _Gilmore Girls_.”

“It’s a classic show!” Koushi protests, and then, when Oikawa just continues to look vaguely amused, he sighs. “Okay, I get it. What’s the plan?”

Oikawa laughs. “That’s the spirit. Look, on the bright side, he most likely doesn’t know who you are yet. Otherwise, you’d be dead. That gives you the element of surprise, assuming you work quickly.”

“I always work quickly,” Koushi says, automatically.

“I know.” Oikawa’s smile is dangerous. Jagged and polished, like a knife.

* * *

 

The drive home passes quickly. Koushi’s thoughts aren’t formulating properly; he drives automatically, barely paying attention to the road, while the rest of his brain ticks through every interaction he’s ever had with Sawamura Daichi.

(They met when Koushi first moved in - Daichi brought him a tray of cookies and a small cactus in a pot. He apologized profusely for the fact that the cookies were a little undercooked. Koushi didn’t mention that was just the way he liked them. He also _definitely_ didn’t blush when his new neighbor shook his hand and said, “Call me Daichi!”)

_Impossible._

(His fingers were calloused, larger than Koushi’s. Steady. Warm. Koushi had trouble falling asleep that night.)

 _He’s not supposed to be like me_.

(Koushi had seen him help old ladies cross the street. He was friendly and funny and kind. And he didn’t seem to care that Koushi was quiet and subdued, that he retreated from being touched.)

 _How the hell am I supposed to_ kill _him_?

* * *

 

The next morning, he leaves his apartment for his run and stumbles straight into Daichi’s chest.

“Oh, hey, Suga!” Daichi’s hair is sleep-mussed, standing straight up on one side. He’s wearing boxers and an old t-shirt, holding the newspaper in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, and Koushi can’t help but think that the only part of him in danger around Daichi is his heart.

“Hi,” he says, and god _damn_ it, is he physically incapable of _not_  flushing scarlet around this man? “Good. Um. Morning.”

Daichi nods cheerfully, asks him something about his weekend, starts a conversation about the new  _Star Wars_ movie. And Koushi needs to get him alone, unguarded, so he does what he usually does with other spies and gang leaders and high-level members of the United States Congress.

He blurts, all in a rush, “Do you maybe want to go on a date with me?”

 _This is business_ , he reminds himself, but it sounds like a lie even inside his own head. And then Daichi’s eyes light up, and Koushi wants very much to fling himself out the window at the end of the hall and maybe ascend into the sun.

“Yeah,” Daichi says. His smile makes Koushi want to smile, too, which is absurd, because he’s never felt less like smiling in his entire life. “Absolutely.”

“Okay,” Koushi says. “Okay, cool. I’ll... I’ll text you, then.”

Daichi nods again, retreats back into his apartment with a wave and a, “See you later!”

Koushi locks himself in his bedroom and screams into the pillow.

* * *

 

He takes Daichi to _The Crow_ , which is probably more upscale than he technically could afford with an elementary school teacher’s salary. Daichi doesn’t seemed alarmed, though, or tipped off - he just whistles when Koushi tells him, and says with a wince, “Guess I need to try and find my old suit.”

 _The Crow_ is beautiful, resplendent with domed ceilings and crystal chandeliers. The light they give off looks golden, and it keeps catching in Daichi’s hair and eyes and turning them to candlelight.

Daichi’s suit is black. His tie is black, too; the knot’s a little off. Koushi fixes it for him and Daichi murmurs, “Thanks,” his breath brushing softly against Koushi’s cheek.

“No problem,” Koushi says. His voice cracks up an octave too high.

“You look really nice,” Daichi says. “But you know, I would’ve been happy just going to the ramen place down the street.”

Koushi ducks his head, fiddling with the sleeves of his gray suitcoat. “Thanks,” he says. “And I know, but I wanted this to be special.”

 _Shit. Shit. God. How am I going to kill this man_?

“Ready to sit?”

“I... yeah, let’s go.”

 _God. I have to kill this man_.

Dinner is incredible (as well as incredibly overpriced). The table is small, and Daichi’s leg bumps against Koushi’s enough times that he finally just leaves it there. It is anchoring, a tether keeping Koushi fixed to the earth. He can’t decide whether or not he’s grateful.

“Let’s go find somewhere quiet,” he finally says, after they’re finished eating. Pull off the band-aid, he says to himself. It’ll hurt less in the long run.

“Okay,” Daichi says. He smiles at Koushi, his face gentle, and it occurs to Koushi for the first time that maybe he already knows.

Shit.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

They find an empty conference room and shut the door behind him. Koushi reaches into his pocket and brushes his fingers along his knife. Normally, the feeling of metal against his fingertips is reassuring. Tonight, it just makes him feel tired.

Behind him, Daichi says, “Well. Should we get started, then?”

Koushi turns.

Daichi is standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted to the side. He’s not smiling anymore; his expression is carefully guarded, calculating. His entire demeanor is altered, changed. Even the look in his eyes is new. He is still Daichi, but different - Daichi two-point-oh.

 _Oh_ , Koushi thinks.

“You knew,” he accuses faintly.

Daichi nods. “Probably longer than you have,” he says. His voice is still gentle. Koushi wants to scream. “I could tell as soon as we met.”

Koushi shakes his head. “I was totally clueless,” he mutters. “This whole time. I had no idea... How did _you_ know?”

Daichi looks at him, very seriously, with his melting eyes and a small, melting smile. “Your eyes,” he says.

Koushi pulls the knife out of his pocket.

His fingers are shaking.

When was the last time his fingers shook on a job?

“Then it was all fake,” he says.

Daichi shakes his head. “None of it was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know.”

They move at the same time, a clash, a coming-together. In another life, another world, this would’ve been a kiss. Instead, it is this: Daichi’s fists, Koushi’s foot hooking his legs out from underneath him, Koushi’s knife against his palm, Daichi’s elbow against his ribs.

He’s good. Better than Koushi expected. He fights steady and strong, with well-timed jabs and heavy blows.

But he’s not as good as Koushi.

It ends like this: with Daichi thrown onto the table, his hand closed around Koushi’s tie, Koushi’s knife pressed against the soft skin of his throat.

“I can’t kill you,” Daichi observes.

Koushi smiles a little sadly. “Don’t feel bad. I’m pretty good at this,” he says.

“No,” Daichi says. “That’s not why.”

Fire bursts into life in Koushi’s veins, and he wants to run, wants to drop his knife and get the _hell_  away from here.

“Then you’re weak,” he spits.

A bead of blood wells up below the point of his knife.

“I know,” Daichi says. He drops Koushi’s tie.

The knife clatters to the floor, and now Koushi’s hands are closing around Daichi’s collar, and they are kissing, full on the mouth. Daichi’s lips are like the rest of him - soft and steady and warm. He kisses thoughtfully, by the book, his hand coming up to card through Koushi’s hair, the pad of his thumb brushing along Koushi’s cheekbone.

Daichi hums against Koushi’s mouth and pulls away, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his lips, his jaw, his temple, his ear. Koushi makes a soft sound that might be a groan and might be a sob, and he’s dead. He knows it. Oikawa’s going to kill him. But it might be worth it if he can go to hell with Daichi’s taste on his tongue, Daichi’s name on his lips.

He smells like light. Almost minty. Koushi bets his bare skin tastes like heaven.

They break apart, both breathing heavily. “I’m going to run,” Daichi says. “You’ll need to, too.”

Koushi shakes his head. He definitely is crying now, hot, angry tears. “Why,” he demands, “couldn’t you just have been an asshole?”

“I’ve been asking myself that about you for months now.” Daichi smiles, brushes his lips against Koushi’s cheek.

“Kissing away the tears?” Koushi sniffles. “How cliche.”

Daichi’s smile widens against Koushi’s skin. “See you later, Suga.”

“Promise?” Koushi asks, his voice a little wobbly.

There is a soft chuckle, another kiss pressed to his lips, and then Daichi is gone. Koushi wraps his arms around himself, sinks down into one of the conference room’s chairs.

“Stupid,” he tells himself.

The empty conference room says nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith last night...


End file.
